Her fingers brushed against the lip ring. “So . . . when do you want to get together again?”
He nipped at her fingers, sending a skitter of excitement through her body. “I am at your beck and call.” He thought for a moment, and then gave a small shrug. “Well, unless your beck and call is on a weekday, because your brother would have my head if I skipped out on work.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” she said shyly. Should she suggest tomorrow night? Would that be too forward? Could you be too forward with a man who’d just licked you until you came? Who, even now, was sprawled between her legs, naked? Her fingers traced along a tattoo thoughtfully. “My schedule is more open than yours. Do you want to just text me when you’re available?”
“I can do that.” He leaned in and pressed another kiss on her mouth. “But for now, I suppose we should clean up this room, shouldn’t we?”
She nodded, and tried not to think of him never calling her again. He would, wouldn’t he?
NINE
A week later, Elise got the courage to drop the staging sheets off at the dry cleaner at the next town over. She tried not to blush when pointing out that the material was stained with baby oil and wax, and could they please get it out. Again, not something she wanted to take in to a Bluebonnet dry cleaner, since it was a small town and people talked. But all this subterfuge was getting a little ridiculous.
Would it really be so bad if people found out she and Rome were dating?
They were dating, weren’t they? He’d taken her out a few times in the last week, and sure, they made out a bit—okay, a lot—but they also laughed and talked and did couple-type things. He wasn’t pressuring her for sex just so he could bang her and get it over with.
That was dating, wasn’t it?
And she hadn’t expected it from him—she’d expected him to have sex with her, of course, but not more than that—and it was a pleasure to be around him. When he wasn’t there, she found herself thinking about him. What was he doing that day? Did he think about her while he was at work?
She had it bad.
Of course, she was naive, but she was rather hoping she wasn’t the only one. Just this morning, she’d gotten a text from Rome.
Woke up this morning and you weren’t in my bed. Kinda sucked.
Which, of course, made her all giddy and giggly. She sent back: Did you check under the bed?
No sexy brunettes. Just a blonde, but I kicked her out.
Hey!
J/K. Maybe you should come check for yourself. :)
She thought about that smiley all morning. It matched the smile on her own face. Heck, she couldn’t stop smiling. Okay, sometimes she thought about their interlude in the salon and how he’d buried his face against her sex, and then she blushed along with her smile. But mostly? Just smiling.
Her phone buzzed with another text while she was in the parking lot of the camera store, and she grabbed it eagerly. It was a picture this time, of Rome in one of the paintball jumpsuits, twin stripes of black face paint under his eyes. He had a paintball gun slung over his shoulders. As she admired the photo, another message from him popped up.
You like?
Too much clothing, she sent back.
Oh man, he sent back a minute later. I should have known that I created a monster. You’re asking for dick pics, aren’t you?
No!!!
You sure?
I’m sure! Well . . . if you send one, I won’t complain. But I’m not sending anything back!
Tease.
He continued to text her, distracting her from her shopping. It was a good distraction, though, and she was humming as she purchased darkroom chemicals and paper. The candlelight photos she’d taken of Rome would be developed by hand. From start to finish, he’d be all hers. Maybe she’d put them in a scrapbook that she could pull out and look at from time to time.
Of course, that sounded horribly spinsterish, didn’t it? Elise frowned to herself. Putting pictures of a guy in a scrapbook made it sound like she was planning for a future alone instead of enjoying what she had in the present. It seemed like mentally she still couldn’t shake the fact that she was surprised someone wanted her.
It felt like there should be a catch somewhere. It wasn’t supposed to be that easy in real life, was it? You didn’t go up to a guy, ask him to sleep with you, and start dating instead. That sort of thing just didn’t happen.
Her phone lit up with another text while she stared at it.
You coming out to the ranch?
It took her a moment to realize that the text wasn’t from Rome, but from her brother. I was. What’s up?
We have some guys coming by this afternoon. Wanted to do some action shots for the paintball brochure if you can bring your equipment.
Can do. Her brother was being a little picky about the shots, but she didn’t mind. It gave her an excuse to stay in Bluebonnet, and it made her feel wanted. That was better than taking pictures of trees and lake shots while hanging out with her parents.
Truth be told, she rather liked being on her own while in Bluebonnet. Maybe it was time to move out on her own after all . . . And then what? Sit at home in her apartment by herself? How would she pay the bills? Ask her parents? She and Beth Ann had toyed with the idea of doing pinup photo shoots, but that would only work if she stayed in Bluebonnet, and she wasn’t sure the town was big enough to support a photography business. And was that what she really wanted to do? Hadn’t she played with the idea of being a magazine photographer? There was a big difference between that and taking senior photos.
Elise hadn’t figured out all the details yet.
Her phone buzzed again. Grant. And I need another favor.
Oh?
I want you to go thrift shopping with Brenna. Make sure she doesn’t buy anything hideous. Tell her you hate everything. You know Mother probably wants a big wedding.
Yes, but Brenna probably wants to dress up like Elvis.
Hence my problem. I’m stuck in the middle. Come help your brother out.
She chuckled. What are sisters for?
• • •
“I can’t wait to start popping some tags!” Brenna bounded out of Elise’s rental, her enormous purse slung over her shoulder as she headed for the sidewalk of the shopping strip and made a beeline for the ugly storefront that had “Thrift Store & Consignment” soaped onto the window.
Elise groaned and followed her in. Brenna was in high spirits, despite the fact that they’d driven for a half hour and Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” had played on endless repeat the entire time while Brenna’s pug squatted and peed on the floorboards of the car and whined in fear. Elise wasn’t very fond of that dog, and had suggested leaving it at home, to which Brenna had acted as if Elise had suggested they let the dog play in traffic.